


Burn the Breeze

by superior_olive



Series: A Rotary Heart [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, Reunion, Violence, as slowburn as i can manage...., i'll add more as it fits, mentions of abuse, mentions of suicide/suicidal ideation, slowburn, some spice since it's rate m kids
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-12
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-03-03 18:23:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13346898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superior_olive/pseuds/superior_olive
Summary: After the events, of I'm Sorry Darlin, Jesse and Hanzo grew up apart and into their respective roles as in canon.This takes place during Reflections, so anything after that will obviously not be directly included.-----------------------------It was a cold night, colder than most with snow covering the ground a good two feet deep. McCree wasn’t one to complain about such things, he always had a sure fire way to stay warm with whiskey burning down his throat. Shot after shot, it didn’t take long for his head to hit the bar, his mind swimming an alcohol induced haze. It was Christmas Eve, but men like McCree didn’t have family or loved ones to spend it with. So men like him drank, drank until they couldn’t see straight, or think about tomorrow. They drank until they didn’t care that it was Christmas Eve, that another year had passed and yet they still didn’t get any younger, richer, or wiser.





	1. Merry Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! So here is the debut chapter for Part 2 of the series, Burn the Breeze! I can't thank you guys enough for the support I'm Sorry Darlin got so I hope you enjoy it when they're all so much older.  
> Again I edit everything myself so all mistakes are my own, hope you enjoy!

It was a cold night, colder than most with snow covering the ground a good two feet deep. McCree wasn’t one to complain about such things, he always had a sure fire way to stay warm with whiskey burning down his throat. Shot after shot, it didn’t take long for his head to hit the bar, his mind swimming an alcohol induced haze. It was Christmas Eve, but men like McCree didn’t have family or loved ones to spend it with. So men like him drank, drank until they couldn’t see straight, or think about tomorrow. They drank until they didn’t care that it was Christmas Eve, that another year had passed and yet they still didn’t get any younger, richer, or wiser.

He hadn’t meant to pass out like that, but it wasn’t surprising either. The winter had always made him more depressed for whatever reason, the cold nipping his bones through his serape. Yet alcohol put him into a sleep, the type of rest where he knew at 2 am the bartender would wake him up to shoo him out into the cold for closing, but nevertheless it was a good sleep. Jesse was taken back when he woke up without prompt, noticing a woman sitting in the corner. She was messing with some sort of tablet, tech he wasn’t too familiar with. He squinted his eyes at her before she looked up and smiled at him, something devilish and smug to it. McCree tilted his head, sizing the woman up. Half of her head was shaved, her hair streaked with purplish pink dye. He thought passively that she was too old to be dressing like a hacker-esque teen, but even in his drunken state he knew better to say anything. Though he kept most of his shit off the web these days, he didn’t need her finding and showing off the multiple warrants he had hanging in the air over his head. They weren’t exactly hard to find. 

McCree closed his eyes as she waved at him, confused when he opened them again to see her gone. He absently wondered if she was even real, or if he had really drank too much, making up bar patrons with his tired mind. Groaning lightly, he sat up more tapping the bar counter. 

“Can I get another one? I’m conscious before midnight, it’s a damn shame.” McCree grumbled, the bartender cleaning a glass as he assessed the cowboy with a perked eyebrow. 

“A damn shame?” The bartender chuckled as he reached down, bringing back a bottle of bourbon. “Most folk would like to be awake for Christmas, but I guess if you were that folk you wouldn’t be here.” He commented as he filled up McCree’s glass half full, setting it down beside him.

“Damn straight,” Jesse grunted as he moved to pick up his drink, sloshing it down quickly. He shook his head, the burn waking him up a bit more, the opposite of what he was wanting.

The barkeep simply looked down with a sigh as McCree set his head back down, trying to will himself to sleep, to go back into the dark unconsciousness he was all but too familiar with. He let out a frustrated groan when someone tapped his shoulder, his attempts interrupted once more.

“What?” he growled quietly as he sat up, finding himself nose to nose with another man. He wasn’t attractive, missing too many teeth and somehow managed to be even more unkempt than himself. “What do you want?” He restated, eyeing him down.

“Hey, I knooow you,” the other man slurred. Jesse was a bit shocked to find someone more intoxicated than him, but not impressed. The ugly man reached to his side, causing McCree to tense up though all he did was pull out a wanted poster,  _ his _ wanted poster. 

_ Fuck. _ Jesse chewed the inside of his cheek when he saw the man gesture to his companions, a group of three. “Hey look, it’s the...the guy from the poster.” He hiccuped, stumbling over as he pointed to Jesse. “Worth a lot of money….dead or alive.” The bounty hunter flashed a smile, no charm or beauty to speak of. Jesse fumbled as he sat up, deciding it was probably a good time to take his exit.

“Alright, I can..can take a hint.” McCree stumbled on his words along with his legs as he tossed some cash onto the bar counter. “I’ll leave. Say no more.” He flashed a wolfish grin at the bounty hunter, his head still swimming as he watched the other men move to block his way out.

“Sit back down,” One of the larger guys stated, a lot more steady on his legs than McCree wanted him to be. It wasn’t fair, one drunk man versus four less drunk men, but he had been in far worse scraps. 

Jesse smile widened as he reached behind him, grabbing a beer bottle that was most definitely not his. He narrowed his eyes, watching the tallest of the four approach, not wobbling at all, but with willful long strides. McCree decided he should fix that. 

With a sharp noise and swift motion, Jesse smashed the bottle against the man’s head, nearly dropping him immediately. He couldn’t hold back a snicker, wondering if these were even real bounty hunters. “Sorry ‘bout that,” he taunted as he kicked him over, a bit too triumphantly before he was tackled from the back by a different man. 

Jesse wished he could see the face of the guy when he chuckled. He hit the ground harder than he should’ve, and definitely shouldn’t be enjoying himself, but he hadn’t had a good ole fashion bar fight in a while. He was considered old for a man on the run at 37, but there were somethings that still made him feel like a pup. The shattered glass he held found its way into the man’s side, Jesse getting up with still wobbly on his feet. He didn’t have much time to react, the last sober man swung at him though McCree was able to redirect him into the table, the cheap wood breaking under his weight. Jesse sported a wide grin as he wiped his hands together, taking a sip of whatever was left in the glass on the bar not caring if it was for him or not. 

“Ya sure ya wanna try?” He drawled at the last man, who definitely was too drunk to put up any sort of fight. Glass, blood, and booze were scattered about, the man shaking his head no quickly. “Smartest choice I’m sure you’ve made all day.” He patted his shoulder as he walked past him, glancing back at the bartender. “My buddy here, he’ll cover any extra costs. I’m gonna head out early, enjoy my Christmas Eve.” His words were a bit mumbled as he grabbed his hat from a stool, dusting off any debris before stepping out into the night.

A rush of icy air bit through his serape, leaving Jesse unable to contain a visceral shiver. It was cold, colder than he remembered, definitely colder than when he arrived to the bar. He had hoped that the alcohol was enough to keep him warm through the night, but the snow had other plans. “Merry, fucking Christmas,” he muttered to himself, reaching to light a cigarillo he dug out of his pocket.

“It’s actually still Christmas Eve,” a familiar voice stated with some amusement, McCree’s eyes widening as he turned to the small figure. “Not quite midnight, cowboy.”

“Well fry me in butter and call me a catfish. Genji Shimada.”  He took a long, slow drag, narrowing his gaze. “Whatcha doing all the way out here, in the middle of nowhere?” McCree wasn’t certain, but he was fairly sure he was somewhere in West Virginia, a place that Genji would have no business being at. He was definitely here for him.

“I could ask you the same,” the cyborg was wearing his visor along with a black heavy coat and jogger pants. It was weird to see him dressed. “By now I’m sure you would’ve found a better hiding spot than… crosscountry bar hopping.”

McCree laughed at that, leaning against a street sign. “You’re in a good mood, but I haven’t seen ya in ages. You went off with that monk, right?” He hadn’t seen him since the incident in Switzerland, though he had heard stories. His former Blackwatch comrade had apparently went off on a journey of self discovery, joining some sort of monastery with ominics. He was happy for him, but a part of him had been jealous. Jesse hadn’t found any type of meaning in his life, though he supposed he needed to search in other places than the bottom of every bottle of whiskey he had.. 

“Yes, Zenyatta. I’ve been in Nepal for a while, it’s been good to me.” He shrugged, his movements still as quiet and smooth as ever. 

“Well, out with it then.” Jesse motioned for him to follow, starting down the road. “Too cold to stand put, but I’d reckon this isn’t a social call. Whatcha tracking lil ole me down for?” He knew Genji was notorious for dodging questions but he figured he would talk. McCree was pleased to see him in good health, but nevertheless it had been five years. A lot had changed, McCree had changed. 

“Straight to the point,” Genji trailed behind, his hands lost in his pockets. He wondered if he felt the cold like he did, though McCree had never asked him too much about his transition to cybernetics. It was personal, and he wasn’t one to pry. “I’ll cut to the chase then, it’s…” He paused, stopping in the midst of a small gust of wind, the snow kicked up around them.

“Cat gotcha tongue?” Jesse teased, turning back. He managed not to shiver, the smoke warming his throat as he watched Genji remove his visor. His face was very much the same, pale scarred flesh paired with dark eyes. 

“It’s about Hanzo.” He said as clear as day, McCree nearly choking on his cigarillo. “I...I need your help. He wouldn’t listen to me, but maybe…” he looked up, his concerned expression hiding more than he showed. “Perhaps you could convince him to come back.”

The cowboy straightened his back, taking another long drag to calm his nerves, the smoke lighting a fire in his belly. “Fuck no. Come back to what? He ain’t ever known a different life than the one he’s living, and lord knows we ain’t got Overwatch or Blackwatch anymore. There’s nothing, Genji. Nothing.”

“That’s not true, Winston sent out a message and I think Han--” Jesse cut him off, raising a hand up. 

“Hanzo, did...did  _ this _ to ya.” He gestured to his face and visor. “Whoever he was...whoever I was...it’s gone. We all done gone and changed Genji, you’re sure as hell not the same fella as when we were kids.” McCree bit into his cigarillo, the bitter taste making him grimace. “Not sure how ya found me or found him, but I would suggest going back to Nepal. No point chasing after ghosts.”

Genji shook his head as he placed his visor back on, hiding his frown. “I have changed. We all have. But I still have hope for him, Jesse, I have forgiven him.” He walked closer, the snow sticking to the bottom of his pants. “I’m not asking you to, I’m merely asking for help. I...I have tried to contact him but he...wasn’t receptive.” McCree bit at his lip, eyes gast down. He didn’t ask for this, he didn’t want his past thrown back into his face. Though he knew he couldn’t deny Genji wouldn’t be here if he hadn’t tried on his own. That he didn’t genuinely feel for his brother, that this was very much his past too. 

After a moment of silence, Genji continued. “I don’t like to ask for favors, you know this.” He shifted somewhat uncomfortably, wanting a response from the cowboy. “If you won’t do this for yourself, then do it for me. Please.” 

McCree went to meet his visor’s gaze, knowing his eyes had to be staring daggers into him. The cyborg let a frustrated sigh at him, suddenly turning back down the path.

“You have my number, if you change your mind call me. I will be in town for the rest of the night, but I’m leaving in the morning….Just. I just ask you think on it.” Genji gave him a quick peace sign as he soon disappeared into the whiteness that consumed the streets. 

It had started to snow again, McCree swore that icicles were beginning to form on the brim of his hat before he went to move. He threw his cigarillo into a snowdrift as he headed back to his room. The motel was old and musty, but it was cheap and discreet.

A whirlwind of emotions were eating through him as he sat down on the edge of his bed, tearing off his frozen boots. The cold air had sobered him far too much than he wanted, Hanzo being the last person in the world he wanted to think about. Jesse was old enough to admit that the archer did cross his mind every once in awhile, especially during the winter. He had first rationalized it that he was friends with Genji, that the brothers looked alike. He also knew that no matter what terrible sins Hanzo had done he was in fact his first real love, and that he’d always be lurking in the back of his mind to a degree. 

McCree let out an irritated grunt, rubbing where metal met flesh on his arm, the temperature not doing his joints any favors. He stared at the bathroom wondering if it’d be worth it to start a shower, but decided against getting undressed. Instead he grabbed his pack, looking for his flask before stumbling upon a small notebook. It wasn’t personal enough to be considered a diary but not quite organized to be a journal. He had filled the pages with random thoughts throughout his life, a token for him to always remember where he came from, to see how far he had grown from then. Sure, pen and paper were old fashioned, but if McCree was anything he was an anachronism. He had his own rules, his own creed, and would stick to it, with one being leaving the past where it belonged. Yet he couldn’t stop the prickling feeling on the back on his neck the more he thought of him, the thought of them back then. Back when they were young, and Genji had all his limbs. Back when they were naive, but god they were in love. At least, McCree had been so.

But he remembered when they had found Genji, how torn up and destroyed he was, how utterly broken, body and soul. He knew Hanzo had did it, that Hanzo had changed from the protective brother into some sort of Yakuza crime lord, that family became second to honor. Jesse partially had blamed himself for never trying to take him back, but Hanzo had also made the choice to stay. Genji had tried to leave again, and Hanzo was the one who dealt the punishment, nearly killing him. He was dazed that Genji had forgiven him let alone sought him out. McCree chuckled darkly to himself, wondering what Hanzo’s face must’ve been when he realized that a ghost of his past had come back quite literally, offering him a second chance. 

Flipping through the pages he stumbled upon an old picture, frayed and yellowed, but all the same pressed in with care. McCree’s hands shook slightly as he gently pulled out the strip of photos, from an arcade so long ago so far away. A tender moment captured in time, he couldn’t believe he had ever looked that young or that happy. Hanzo was pressed up against him, he could recall how small and cramped that photo booth had been. He looked happy too, beaming with a small smile and slightly pink cheeks. Jesse could only start to guess how he had changed, how time had treated him. He had always seemed well disciplined, a bit uptight, and surely with the Yakuza lifestyle he was in a good shape, but other than that it was all up for speculation. Did he change his hair, his style? Surely he had to have accumulated more scars over the years like Jesse, but did he lose an arm like him? He shook his head again, casting out any fond nostalgia reminding himself what Hanzo had done, that no matter how many good memories he had they couldn’t compare to the pain and struggle he put his brother through. Jesse was the one who had to step up, play the role of an older sibling and be there for Genji. And yet, in the end, he had failed at keeping Blackwatch together just like how he let the brothers down in Palo Duro. 

Redemption. Forgiveness. He wanted these things, craved them even, but wasn’t sure how to find them, or who to ask them from. McCree put the pictures back before rubbing his hand roughly through his hair, only more troubled. He had hardened since he was a teen, fought everyday of his life and came out of each one with a little less of himself. Perhaps Hanzo was in a similar spot, perhaps he didn’t know what to do and needed some guidance. At the very least, if Jesse was to tag along he would get to catch up with Genji. He seemed to have his life put together, at least much more than Jesse did, and traveling by himself did get tiresome. Plus having a deadly cyborg assassin owe him a favor was always something he could find use for.

The bed creaked as he sat up, moving to pull on his boots. He was irritated since he had just taken them off, but he assumed Genji had to have booked a better place than this. He then grabbed his bag, slinging it over his shoulder as he went out the door, cell phone at hand.

Genji picked up rather quickly, his voice a mixture of excitement and relief. “McCree?”

“Yup. I’m in.” Jesse couldn’t help but smile.

“Yes, good! I’ll text you the address of where I’m staying, we can discuss the details in full.” He could hear the cyborg moving around his room, he had almost forgot how energetic he was. “I’m glad you’re hearing me out.”

“Yeah, well it’s the holidays.” McCree glanced up at the sky, hearing the bells ring from the clock-tower. The cowboy felt oddly cheerful for once. “Merry Christmas.”


	2. The Boy with the Red Bandana

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I guess I'm doing chapter names now? Idk i just thought it was something cool, but anyways here's the first Hanzo pov chapter! It was pretty fun and pretty depressing to write, but I hope ya'll enjoy!  
> I'm so grateful to say I was beta'd by queerthan on twitter and ao3!

 It wasn’t the ideal Christmas dinner, but the single white cake was more than enough for Hanzo. This evening was especially cold, one marked not by heavy snow but by frozen rain which only added to the misery on the streets.The archer sighed heavily as he glanced around the dirty motel room he rented for the night, seeing that even a simple commodity such as clean towels weren’t available.

Hanzo shivered lightly as he slumped down his bag on the bed, moving to turn on the TV as he sat down. He didn’t bother to take off his shoes figuring that the sheets were already dirty. Additionally, he honestly didn’t want to see what his socks or feet looked like after walking around this slush all day. Pulling the cake onto his lap, he took a plastic fork out of the packaging before digging in for a large bite. His mind wandered endlessly as he glanced over at the mirror, viewing himself. With inky wet hair pressed flatly against his forehead and a few cake crumbs covering his goatee, it was hard to imagine himself as the well groomed and proud Shimada he was supposed to be. Used to be. He took a mental note that he needed to trim up his facial hair along with re-shaving the sides and back of his head. It was still odd everytime he looked in a mirror, always needing a moment to recognize the man staring back. Trying to move forward on his own was as difficult as it was troubling; he had acquired a new haircut, piercings, and perhaps a somewhat questionable wardrobe all in an attempt to define himself on his own terms. Hanzo wondered absently what his father would think if he was alive, to see what he had let himself become. Alone, cold and wet on Christmas day, eating an entire cake in some dingy motel in a remote part of Japan. He wasn’t sure if that was enough reason to laugh or cry, deciding to focus more on the television.

There was an infomercial for some silly workout contraption that Hanzo thought was too complicated and unnecessary for the cost, but he knew he kept himself in good shape. Perhaps a cake wasn’t the best thing to munching away on while bragging silently on his fitness, but running from assassins while working as a wandering mercenary was tiring work. He needed the calories if anything.  

He hadn’t meant to stay in Japan this long, but something about the holiday season always brought him back. Hanzo hadn’t visited Hanamura, his last encounter there still haunting him more than he’d like to admit. Genji wasn’t dead. He wasn’t sure if his heart had accepted it yet, but his mind knew the truth. He wasn’t dead; the baby brother that he had torn apart managed to live through it, and come back. Hanzo would have accepted it if he had came back as an angel of vengeance, seeking righteous retribution from Hanzo’s own failures and sins. However, Genji had not come back angry, but forgiving, his hand extended in compassion rather than a fist. Hanzo glanced down, remembering how the dragons had danced around them, the last two true Shimadas once again reunited after ten long years. 

He missed him. He missed his brother so much that at times he could hardly stand it, but knowing he was alive had only made it worse. His skin was on fire, wanting to be forgiven, to be loved, to have family again. Yet he knew it wasn’t that simple, that life wasn’t that easily fixed. Whether Genji truly meant what he said or not, Hanzo could not find forgiveness for himself- at least not now. Such things had to be earned, not given, and he had to make himself worthy of redemption. He had worked, fought, and bled for the last decade searching for what that meant- for what he had to do to find such restitution for his soul. Hanzo had tried to reinvent himself: different names, different faces, but always still the same man underneath. Despite all he had done, he wasn’t a good man, let alone a good brother. He often contemplated if it was worth trying anymore.  

Before he could delve further into his thoughts, the television, along with the lights, went out suddenly. Hanzo rolled his eyes, cursing the storm for his bad luck. He set the cake down steadily onto the bed before slowly sitting up with an annoyed grunt. Hanzo weighed the idea of going to the front desk to complain, but his body stilled as he heard the faintest sound of footsteps crunching around his door. His eyes narrowed as he went to reach down for his bow, feeling his bag for an arrow as his room was only illuminated by the slits of moonlight that managed through the window blinds. 

He shut his eyes, taking a heavy breath as he focused on what he could hear. Two sets of feet, he was assuming two smaller set men or women were outside, pacing. One at the door, the other just to the side of the window where their shadow would be missed. There was a knock, a bold move, an attempt to line him up where they wanted. Hanzo stood up, his joints aching a bit from the cold.

“I will be there in a moment,” he called out, squinting at the window as he drew back his bow string. He felt slightly insulted, tired of these unoriginal hired killers coming with such ineffective plans. 

With a quick motion, he shot the arrow where it was followed only by the sounds of breaking glass and a single yelp. It always happened so fast. The fights, the kills, they always seemed to be finished in seconds that Hanzo mused he could blink and it’d all be over. He was fortunate for his swift reflexes as the other assassin wasted no time breaking through the door. The dark figure was brandishing a gun, but was obviously unsettled, panicked. A few loud shots rang across the room before Hanzo knocked him to the side with his bow, swiftly striking the figure down with the heavy piece of equipment. Hanzo popped his knees as he worked his way behind him, using the bow string to strangle the man as he attempted to reach for what he could only be a knife in his boot. He focused on his breath, on keeping his arms steady as he felt the fight in the assassin begin to falter, eventually giving up struggling as he went into unconsciousness. His body dropped with a thud as Hanzo let go with a sigh, reaching down for the small blade to slit his throat cleanly. It was a quick death, the only mercy he would allow- it was Christmas after all.  

Hanzo narrowed his eyes at the door angrily, mildly upset to see it busted. Cold wind and rain flew into the room as the archer merely poked his head outside to observe what had happened to the other assassin. The woman had apparently died nearly immediately from the arrow, a perfect shot through the heart. He allowed himself a small smile from that, going back into his room to pick up his bag and cake. Somehow assassins had found him yet again, even on a holiday, not allowing him any rest. He figured he should leave the motel before more showed up, and he honestly didn’t want to explain to the clerk why the power and door were destroyed, not to mention the two dead bodies accumulating ice. After a few more bites of cake, he stepped back into the freezing rain hitching his hood up. 

Hanzo wanted to complain about the weather, but in a way it was too fitting. Men like him should spend Christmas like this, where he could hardly feel his fingers or toes. The numbness spread down his limbs as he walked quicker through the rain, forcing himself to accept it. This was the way life was for killers, for the bad men of the world. Warmth and comfort were things he was never too familiar with, so he mused that the loss of them meant little. He had traveled through worse, survived through worse. If it was a test of will and constitution or a form of divine punishment, he had no choice but to endure.

The storm picked up again, the sleet was starting to soak through his boots making them into an even more uncomfortable state. Hanzo was quick to shuffle through the streets, perking up when he saw lights in what looked like a warehouse. It appeared to be used for storage for shipments of fish from the nearby harbor, but fortunately was unoccupied. Hanzo crept in, taking his hood off to try to wring some of the water out of it. His hands were nearly raw and red from the icy rain, his body slightly shaking as he settled down in the back between some boxes to warm up for a bit. 

Memories of a smaller warehouse in much less dramatic winter entered his mind. Hanzo squinted his eyes at the floor as he remembered how Genji was, so long ago in some nowhere town in the States. He didn’t fight off a raspy chuckle, thinking of how in the first week they had stolen some sheets from a clothesline to stay warm, how mad the woman had been when Genji sprinted away before hopping the fence. He smiled to himself, feeling warmed of how silly they were as children, how carefree he had been in comparison to his current self. 

Hanzo swallowed a lump in his throat as he pressed his knees into his chest, holding himself into a ball in some attempt to condense his body heat. An irritated groan escaped his lips, staring down a forgotten lamp left on. He hated that he let himself, but couldn’t help to think of Jesse, the boy with the red bandana. Biting his bottom lip, he cursed to himself trying to will the images of his past away to no avail. All he could see where those warm eyes that glowed like whiskey in the evening sun, a honeyed voice that had sung so many sweet things to him. He vividly remembered the moment Jesse had brought him flowers, a mixture of red and pink roses. No one had ever cared for him in such a way, never spoke or treated Hanzo so kindly. It was nearly twenty years ago and yet, he found himself being haunted by the boy in the red bandana with that cursed dead eye. He had hoped McCree was alive and well, but he had no way of knowing- not that he deserved to. He had chartered his destiny when his parents had died and made the choice to kill his brother, a choice that apparently did not stick.

Shaking his head, he pulled out his phone his fingers warm enough to use again. He checked flights that were leaving tomorrow, reminding himself that he was hunted, that he needed to go as soon as possible. There was a flight to Mexico, he mused that the warmer climate would be nicer and that he could potentially get some much needed sleep on such a long plane ride. He eventually closed the app, knowing that any plane leaving anytime soon was a child’s lofty dream, as the weather too bad for it. Hanzo pondered that he could always stow away on one of the fishing boats that were on track to the mainland and get on a flight there, but then again there was always the risk of the boat succumbing to the sea with this storm. 

He let out a heavy sigh, his thoughts wandering away from the logistics of escape and back to his winter in Oklahoma so many years ago. It had been nice, to have a young love in his life. That was all it was now, a pleasant memory of a life he could never really have. He wasn’t even supposed to experience it, but despite the odds he had. He had gotten to know the sensation of emotion that bloomed from his chest into his entire being. To know the warmth of another pressed against him, the security, the false sense of safety he had felt in another man’s arms. To have been loved, and to love in return. 

He smiled faintly before the dragons came back, to hiss to him of what he had done, of what he was supposed to be. They reminded him why he couldn’t have that, why he didn’t deserve it. He was a Shimada. Yakuza. A kinslayer. He had murdered the one constant love in his life, and in turn allowed his empire, his family’s legacy, to crash into ruin from his heartbreak. How many lives had he destroyed? How many lives did he continue to poison on this endless search for himself? He shuddered, knowing the voices were right. He was bad, terrible and cruel like his father had been. A man who had hurt so many and in the end didn’t even profit from it. Hanzo felt empty inside, a cold that spread from his numb feet into his veins. He had no friends, no support, no family. All things he had taken for granted, all things he had lost by his own means. 

Then there was the new issue of Genji. Still alive, still in the world. He was in shock about the ordeal- how he had found him in Hanamura and how he had told him that he forgave him. He offered him a second chance, a true option for redemption and in his arrogance Hanzo had only criticized and threatened him. Pride would be his downfall, he was more than aware of it, but what was the point of his self awareness if it did him no benefit? He had no idea how to contact Genji, or if he even should. Hanzo had traveled the world, killed men good and bad and yet, couldn’t find what he was seeking. He mused he wanted clarity, purpose- an obvious reason for existing, for continuing. Most days it felt he was going through the motions of living, that he was stuck in some sort of a haze. His lips were so chapped that when he bit his lip again it brought blood, the strong taste of salt and metal flooding his mouth. Hanzo winced at this, wondering what his brother would think if he could see him curled behind frozen crates like a stray cat. Then again, Genji was always the better man, the better brother of the two. He honestly wouldn’t be surprised if the scene would break his heart with compassion, something Hanzo knew he didn’t deserve.

He uncurled himself, leaning back against the damp wood to finish the rest of his cake. It was still Christmas after all, and he would allow himself this treat. He contemplated that he should stay hidden, that Genji needed to move on from Hanzo. He wasn’t salvageable, and if he was, he definitely wasn’t worth it. Too many people were out to kill him, too many paths he had crossed with a cruel, closed hand. He would only be a liability to his brother, and he wanted nothing more for him to rebuild, to live again. If a Shimada was to experience happiness, it was Genji who should.

Hanzo pulled out his phone and looked at more tickets, wondering how much longer he had to keep up at this game. How many assassins and bounty hunters would it take until someone finally claimed the dragon’s head? How long could he keep running and killing and hurting until something finally freed him from his grief? His anger, his resentment, his stubbornness, all that boiled under his skin, all that had led him here. Into this cold shithole, and continued to follow and drag him down into the sludge where he always felt stuck and stagnant, incapable of change. No matter how far he ran, no matter how much he drank, he could never forget the feeling of blood on his hands, how sticky and terrible it was. He could never forget the disgusting smell, or a set of eyes that looked too much like his own staring back at him, pleading for him to stop. How he swallowed any mercy or love in his heart and swung the blade down, how the screams of his little brother still haunted him whenever he was alone in the dark. Hanzo curled up into himself again, biting back a soft noise of distress. He deserved it, deserved this pain. No one understood that he was a monster more than himself, yet he still clinged on to life searching for some meaning.

His eyes fell back to his phone, spotting a new ticket to Paris. He had gone to France a few times, and didn’t really care for it, but there was something about being in this warehouse on a cold night that made him feel nostalgic. He thought of the boy with a crooked smile and a loud laugh, how his pick up truck was so old and messy, how he had kissed him on a ferris wheel and tasted of sugar. Hanzo had forgotten what his hands felt like, but he remembered his voice, the deep drawl that warmed his chest just at the memory of it. The archer let out a small sigh, forgetting why Paris made him think of the boy with the red bandana in such a way, but he booked the ticket despite reason. He’d head out in the morning to the airport, probably to sit and wait after multiple delays and cancellations- but he didn’t mind. It wasn’t like he had much to do anyways.

After a few more cold sugary bites, Hanzo finished his cake laying back down on the floor. It was hard and didn’t do his back any favors but Hanzo didn’t let physical discomfort bother him too much. He closed his eyes, trying to silence the dragons. He focused on old memories, ones where he and Genji were children, playing in the gardens before his training sessions. Ones where they were in the arcade, in Hanamura and Goodswell. Ones with Jesse, a phantom pain in his heart, but nevertheless a golden period of his youth. 

With some frosting on his lips, Hanzo managed to fall into a light sleep dreaming of times he almost swore he was happy.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's sad, but things will get better for Hanzo....eventually.....  
> Again, thanks for all the support for the series it really means a lot to me! Some goals I'm going to try is uploading two chapters a month though as the semester progresses I'm not sure if it'll work out that way, but I'll try! 
> 
> If you need to hmu for any reason i'm @draconic_fly on twitter and @draconicfly on tumblr


	3. Mitten, Get or Give

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience! Alas, staying to a good writing schedule was ruined by grad school interviews and moving, but hopefully I can try to keep on pace for at least one chapter a month or so!   
> I'm so grateful to say I was beta'd by queerthan on twitter and ao3!

“Really?” Genji’s voice was thinly veiling amusement with irritation, and although his face was concealed there was no hiding his mockery. “You’re going to fuss about  _ this _ of all things?” 

McCree replied by messing with the plane seat again, making a bit of a ruckus as he bumped elbows with the cyborg trying to get comfortable. “Yes,  _ really _ . These seats were a lot more spacious the last time I remembered.” He huffed, hating how his long legs were cramped up, his knees awkwardly pressed into the seat in front of him. “A civilian plane of all things, now this is where I shoulda drew the line. One thing to go chasing after ghosts in Hanamura, but sitting in an overpriced, undersized seat? Now that’s hell.” 

Genji chuckled at that, McCree shaking his head though he couldn’t mask the grin spreading across his face. He had missed this- the jokes and the companionship of someone who had undergone a lot of shit too. He folded his arms across his chest as he looked at Genji, his hat mostly covering his eyes. “About that...ya sure about Hanamura? I’d bet my stakes he’s fled off to the other side of the world or some shit.” It was partially true, but he was also worried about Genji’s reaction to going back home. He knew he had already went back home, but he imagined it was still a sensitive subject. It wasn’t everyday someone returned to the place they had, in a sense, died.

Genji shifted a bit, pulling on his hood as he pressed one leg to his chest. Jesse thought it looked a little weird how he wore clothes over his metallic body, but figured it was just as troubling that Genji had technically ran around naked for most of their Blackwatch days. He mused over how he wasn’t wearing his visor, that his scared face reminded other passengers he was human. “I know.” He said after a moment, messing with the gloves on his hands. “But it is the last place I had seen him, and I haven’t found any reports to give me a clue on where he went. Hanzo’s sneaky like that.” He mused, his gaze drifting back to McCree. “He could’ve left something there, or perhaps one of the people there know something. It’s the only lead I can see at this point.” Genji shrugged, elbowing the cowboy. “And I think there’s plenty of seat space. Americans.” He teased, clicking his tongue in judgement.

McCree scoffed at that, his smile waning as he settled more into the seat. “Well, figures. Short as a shrub.” He joked hearing Genji huff in response. He glanced out the window, passively wondering if Hanzo had grown any since he had last seen him. He was in his early twenties so he doubted it, recalling how he was only a little taller than Genji. “Not everyone is a tree,” Genji pulled out his phone, frowning to himself before quickly putting it away. “...Thank you Jesse. For coming with me.” He admitted after a moment, leaving McCree a little taken back. 

“Eh, don’t sweat it,” the cowboy played it off, figuring it was better to be hanging out with Genji during the holidays than at some seedy bar. “Wasn’t like I had too much going on anyways.” It was true in the sense that he hadn’t collected a bounty in several months, not to mention he had just about drank the last of any money he had saved up. McCree didn’t have a long term plan, though taking up the new initiative of Overwatch had been far from anything his mind could predict. There were countless bad memories connected to the organization, something he couldn’t shake as he stared down at his metal arm.

Genji smiled at that, simply nodding as he put his earbuds in before resting his head back as the plane started to take off. McCree was lucky enough to nab the window seat and he leaned into his hand as he watched the world below become smaller and smaller. His eyes drooped with fatigue, the only sleep he had managed was that drunken nap on the bar. Jesse didn’t even want to know what time it was, figuring it was an hour that no rational man was awake. But he supposed he and Genji were far from sensible people considering they were already chasing ghosts, something he still has trouble wrapping his head around. Oddly enough, Jesse fought off the urge to sleep, his mind not allowing it, poking and prodding him with odd and personal questions. Did he want to see Hanzo again and, if he did, what would he do? He wanted to hate him, knew that he should but a part of him knew he couldn’t entirely. He chastised himself for brooding over Hanzo, someone he had promised his younger self to never again think of. 

It was inevitable though; they were in fact on a flight to go try to track him down. It had been almost twenty years but Jesse still got a foreign swirl in his gut whenever he thought about him, how they were before their unfortunate split. Raven hair framing pale skin, how his eyes were dark and deep always cutting through whatever fences McCree had set up. He had undeniably been in love with him- a type of love that his adult life had failed to replicate. Sure Jesse had been involved with other people throughout the years, but no one had ever mattered as much, made him so weak in the knees and bull headed stubborn than his first love. He grumbled to himself, shifting a bit in discomfort as the plane settled out. It was a long flight, just about the whole damn world and here he was caught up on someone he had known only as a teen. It was exasperating. 

As clouds consumed the plane obscuring any interesting view, he grimaced, watching the blanket of grey that surrounded them obscured any interesting view. Eventually Jesse lost the battle with keeping his eyes open, his last conscious thoughts remaining on a younger him, smiling on a cold snowy night in Oklahoma. 

  
  


“Ame! Yuki! Hurry up!” McCree sat up in a fright from the noise, glancing around at the alien surroundings. He was in a bed with dark blue sheets, softer than expected, but definitely not his. The room itself was bigger than at any hotel he had stayed at recently, and was too homey, filled with personal knick knacks. Jesse slowly stood up, scratching at his stomach wondering why he was in just pajama bottoms, only becoming more confused when he noticed a pair of slippers were set by the side of the bed. “Isoide!” 

He swore that sounded like a child, hearing the patter of feet as he crept over to push the door all the way open, peering into the lit hallway. The wooden floor creaked under his weight, each audible step only making him more anxious- though he wasn’t met by anyone, let alone hostility. McCree was beyond bewildered as he looked at a few photos hanging on the wall, seeing a little boy and girl holding various awards. It made no sense, to be in some strangers house, to look at their kids soccer photos or what looked like a family fishing trip. He kept going through the hall, analyzing the pictures while the only noises he could detect sounded like clinking dishes.

“What the fuck..?” he muttered as his feet halted, turning to stare at what appeared to be a family portrait.The two children were standing in the front, dressed in only what he could assume was traditional Japanese clothing, while Jesse himself was behind them, hair slicked and with his hand on the boy’s shoulder. His other hand was wrapped around the waist of a well groomed man in a yukata, his long hair down. McCree’s mouth went dry as he knew those eyes, that smile, that even with the addition of some grey hair he knew who he was holding. “Hanzo..”

Jesse bumped into the wall clumsily when he felt a hand on his hip, nearly striking the intruder before he heard an all but too familiar hum. “What is it dear?” Hanzo purred by his ear, squeezing his side with a hint of a pinch. “I was going to let you sleep in, but I assume you want breakfast too?”

McCree froze as his face went red, finding that he couldn’t speak, his tongue way too tied. “Mhm,” he managed to get out, his blush only worsening when Hanzo let go of him to playfully patting his backside with a chuckle.

“Alright sleepy head. I’ll see what’s left after I get to the children getting to the bus. I made them lunch today, so you’ll have to make dinner as an apology.” The archer joked, the scent of some expensive cologne and tea wafting off him as he strolled by only wearing what he could only guess is an equally expensive robe. 

“Uh huh,” Jesse managed to get out, rubbing his eyes wondering what was happening. What the bed meant, the slippers, the pictures, Hanzo smiling so goddamn much, and kids. He looked down at his metal arm finding a gold band around his ring finger confirming his hunch. Married. They were somehow married. “The bus huh...” he muttered as he followed sluggishly, utterly in disbelief that he could be a father of any kind. 

“Coffee is by the paper, dear,” Hanzo called out before going out the door apparently to see to their two children off to school. Jesse was baffled, positive that this had to be a dream or that he had magically woke up into a parallel universe. He hummed in appreciation as he took a sip of coffee, finding it to be just how he liked- no cream with two spoons of sugar. 

“Might as well died and went to heaven,” he mused to himself, glancing around the living room as he took a seat in a leather recliner. He felt it was a safe bet to assume it was his chair, and with this being either a dream or heaven he had no fear about claiming it. The rest of the furniture seemed a lot less American, with the apparent theme being style and simplicity. It wasn’t bad, but with the prevalent use of blue and gold Hanzo had to be in charge of decorations.

Hanzo returned wearing a wide smile, and McCree mused he did in fact like the look of a goatee on him, albeit unexpected. In the months he he had known him, Hanzo hardly shaved. In contrast, Jesse had to constantly monitor his stubble levels, unsure if the archer had liked the fact he scratched up his face when they kissed. 

“So, uh,” McCree was helpless but to burn under his gaze, finding his eyes to be too real. “Ya gotta go to work or something?” McCree frowned looking down at his mug, unsure what to say or do. “Don’t tell me I’m late to work.” He questioned if he really should play along with house, but he figured no one would know how giddy he was at the idea of this all. 

Hanzo shook his head, grabbing a cup of tea for himself before sitting in the chair next to his. “No, I’m taking the day off. Genji is more than capable to watch the company for the day.” He sighed happily, the lines around his eyes more prominent when he smiled. “Oh my love, you’re retired don’t you remember?” Hanzo chuckled deeply as he laid one hand on Jesse’s. “I know Blackwatch has been tough on you, but it’s been years.”

The cowboy blinked at that, a bit baffled though he shouldn’t be surprised by anything at this point. “So ya telling me I’m just a stay at home dad?” He said while scrunching up his face, wondering if this was a fantasy. Normally, he would’ve thought himself up as a lone ranger- feared but respected for his handiwork, not a trophy husband in his dreams. 

“You help tremendously by watching the kids,” Hanzo huffed a little in amusement, taking a sip of tea. “And you know I make more than enough to take care of you all. I’m a family man.” He shrugged as if it was the most natural thing, as if of course McCree could sit at home all day and do nothing. Jesse had never known such a luxury, and was questionable if he would even enjoy it.

“What,” he paused, setting down his coffee. “So why are ya taking the day off then?” He knew it was silly to question this, to hang on to whatever piece of him that wanted this scenario to be real. Jesse wasn’t proud of it, how part of him loved Hanzo while the other resented, hell, even hated him. But not here, not when Genji was apparently fine and Hanzo made his coffee just right in the mornings, not when he made sure their kids got to school. It was pure fantasy, nothing more than a pipe dream, and yet he couldn’t deny how badly he loved it. Unburying the past came with a lot of complicated feelings, though at the moment he couldn’t be bothered by them.

“Well, to spend it with you,” Hanzo tilted his head as he put his drink down. “Is a man not allowed to spoil his handsome husband?” He teased as he got up, moving to situate himself on Jesse’s lap. “The kids are also going to spend the night at Genji’s,” He murmured by his ear, his hot breath making McCree shiver. He had a hunch this dream was taking a different type of turn- not that he minded- as he felt Hanzo’s hands reach around his sides. 

“So...alone time then?” Jesse managed to spit out quietly, closing his eyes to revel in Hanzo’s touch. He had missed his hands; there was something about them had been all too addictive in his youth. He wondered if they still felt like this, where skilled long fingers knew how to string him along just enough. He hated that the archer wouldn’t leave his mind alone as of late, how he remembered how those calloused hands used to make him melt into putty, that he could remember how they felt against his skin so long ago. Opening his eyes, it took him a moment to realize he was crying.

The dream Hanzo didn’t seem to notice this, continuing to caress his back, his face leaning closer for a kiss. McCree couldn’t open his mouth to say anything, to do anything as he felt the tears spill down his cheeks. He didn’t feel anything when their lips met. Jesse knew it was fake, a figment of his mind, yet he couldn’t let the hope go that it had somehow been real, that somehow that was his life, his future. His family.

  
  


He snapped back to the present when Genji shook his shoulder, waking up somewhat reluctantly.

“McCree, we have to get off.” The cyborg whispered, nudging him again with a bit more force. “We don’t want to miss our connecting flight.”

Jesse nodded, blinking in confusion when he went to touch the few tears that had fallen on his cheeks. “What in the hell..?”

Genji led the way out of the plane without another word as they headed back into the airport in a country Jesse could only assume was in the Middle East. It was going to be a long next couple days, and McCree had never been fond of changing time zones so dramatically. 

“You looked like you were dreaming of something nice,” Genji commented quietly once they found a place to sit. “I mean, before you started to sniffle a bit you had been smiling.” He was turned away, leaving McCree unable to read his body language or face. “...I...Jesse. I hope this isn’t taking too big of a toll on you. If it is too much you can leave.” He sighed, obviously not happy with the idea. “I would not blame you, I am questioning my own resolve as of late.”

“Hey now,” Jesse kicked his bag under his chair, slapping his hand onto his shoulder. “Even if I did wanna go, I wouldn’t leave ya to face the wolves alone. I know Hanamura got some ghosts for ya, and what type of friend would I be to abandon ya?” His eyes drifted down, not sure how he felt about Genji figuring he was dreaming about his brother. It was uncomfortable, but then again what other subject both made him happy and upset? Blackwatch had left him mad, resentful, but also with a better perspective on the world. He knew what he had done hadn’t always been good, hell even nowadays he wondered if vigilante work was considered ‘good’. Nevertheless, it drove him somewhat crazy to think after all the trials his life had put him through, he was back here. That a few couple months as a teenager in some red dirt state had somehow determined his future. That all signs led to Hanzo, that the archer had dug himself back into his mind, into his fucking dreams. He couldn’t shake the memories, how those dark dangerous eyes had looked at him with love. How that love went to spoil, to waste, how it had broken his heart as a young man when he knew he would never kiss those lips again, to see his face one more time. Yet now he didn’t even know if he wanted that anymore and frankly, there was no guarantee that he wouldn’t punch the guy on sight. Jesse shook his head, trying to listen to the conversation at hand. “What I’m trying to say is I’m with ya. You’re one of the few friends I got still kicking and I’ll be damned if I let ya down.”

Genji seemed happier at that, straightening his posture. “Thanks Jesse, it really means a lot to hear that. I know you probably don’t want to talk about the past anymore, but I know Hanzo-  _ our  _ Hanzo- is still in there.” He seemed confident in this claim, turning to face McCree.

“And what if he isn’t?” Jesse couldn’t help but play the devil’s advocate, giving the cyborg a look of concern. “What if he really is just some gun for hire now? That we end up wasting a lot of time?”

“Then we waste it,” Genji stated without missing a beat. “But I know there is still love in his heart for me.” He paused as if he was reconsidering his next words. “For you.”

McCree frowned at that, not liking his tone. He didn’t answer him with anything other than a huff, flicking his hat down. “I’m gonna take a nap,” he grumbled. “Wake me when it’s time to go.” 

He shut his eyes, wondering if there was any validity to what Genji had said, that somehow after all this time if Hanzo still held a candle for him. He would never admit it to himself, let alone out loud, but Jesse could feel a tinge of excitement past all the apprehension. With his tired mind starting to black out, he hoped that he would dream of his imaginary family again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For trivia, Mitten, Get or Give is an old western saying to reject (or be rejected) by a lover! Thought it was appropriate for this more lax, dream sequencey chapter, and hope to keep up that sort of theme for McCree POV chapters. I know it was a rather sad chapter again, but this is an attempt of slow burn but they'll meet soonish have patience ;)
> 
> If you need to contact me for this, or for any reason I'm on twitter @ draconic_fly ad on tumblr @ draconicfly


	4. My Father's Son

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo, tw on this chapter for some suicidal ideation and generally some depressing stuff...bc yknow it's a Hanzo chapter! thank u again for all the support y'all show for the series and i'm so unbelievably happy to update!  
> I'm so grateful to say I was beta'd by queerthan on twitter and ao3!

Hanzo grunted, the burn of alcohol running down his throat as he took another long sip. The sake in Paris was worse than the typical foreign shit, and he was mostly sure it was just hot vodka. Not that he cared much at this point- he wasn’t drinking to savor flavor, no, he was drinking to dull his memories. He was having more nightmares than usual, and life on the run did not help with his natural state of paranoia. Sake maybe wasn’t the correct course of action, but it did help him sleep and the deep bags under his eyes made him desperate for some peace. 

Hanzo was on the verge of passing out on the bar.He was tempted to pass out at the bar this night. The loud noise of a radio and few televisions nearby only added to the static in his mind, and he was more than willing to silence it all by giving into his heavy eyelids. Alas, his nerves wouldn’t let him; Hanzo hissed to himself wanting to rest, only drawing a few odd looks before getting up to pay for his drinks with a grunt.

France was colder than he had imagined. Hanzo wasn’t sure if it was due to the time of the day, or the general weather patterns but it was of no serious consequence. He hardly felt real, more like a ghost as he drifted down the sidewalk. The only warmth he felt was from his flushed cheeks, the alcohol finally catching up to him as he became lost in his own thoughts. 

What was he doing here? What was his next move, his next plan? Hanzo stuffed his hands in his pockets as he glared at the ground, unsure of himself. He couldn’t stop thinking of Genji, how he had offered his hand, another chance of redemption. Another chance at being a brother. But did he deserve it? Surely he had suffered, but was it enough for the grievous deed he had done? He needed a job, that much was obvious, but were dishonorable mercenaries really what Overwatch needed? The organization’s reputation was already damaged as it was, and an addition of himself wouldn’t help. 

No, he decided, men like him needed to keep moving. But why Paris? His mind badgered him as he could only think of a promise from a night long ago, a bright smile on a young dirty face. Hanzo almost allowed himself a faint smile, a light in his heart flickering momentarily. He sighed to himself as he narrowed his eyes, wondering what had become of the cowboy. Hanzo had no right to know of Jesse, to dream of him, to yearn for him. Yet in his drunken state he was powerless but to do so. Hanzo was tired, lonely, and far too tired of being lonely. 

Paris was where they were supposed to get engaged. Paris was where he was supposed to be happy. To get the ending he had always known was too good for him. The life of the Shimada heir has always meant an arranged marriage to a woman- to produce heirs, to live as his father had and all the other ancestors before him. To be another link of the Yakuza chain, and prolong the family legacy. Hanzo shook his head bitterly, biting his lip so roughly that he tasted blood. He wasn’t supposed to have met Jesse or to have these thoughts, these desires of men. Of him. 

He kicked at a can, the loud clanking noise muted by the wind. Sure, Hanzo had been with other people since his departure from the clan. But they had only been a few one night stands. He didn’t understand why he was caught up on one person in particular, especially that tonight of all nights he couldn’t shake that face from his mind. He mused that this was their city in a sense. That despite them never even leaving the states together, the Parisian streets only reminded Hanzo of him, of his freckled face and larger than life attitude. His sweet honeyed words, coupled with a laugh that was sweet as cherry wine and thick as molasses. His first love, and most likely his last.With a defeated sigh, Hanzo leaned against a wall knowing the simple truth of what bothered him. He missed him.

Hanzo missed more than what was a lost childhood love; he missed his life when he thought he was free. How he had been so scared for himself and Genji but all the more enthralled to try new things, to explore new places and to learn who he was as a person. He chuckled darkly, depressed and bemused at what he had become, of what he knew himself to be. When put to the test he was a monster, afraid and hesitant, but a monster nonetheless. When his brother begged he had been expressionless, cut Genji down with a surge of misguided resolve. Hanzo had believed that when Genji was gone that somehow his life would be better, that somehow the elders would be pleased and that he would be the leader the Shimada clan needed. It was all a facade, a lie, all an act in order to please those he thought the world of. 

And he had broken out of it, Hanzo had left them. Yet it seemed it had all been in vain, what he thought would bring him peace only brought more sorrow, more sleepless nights. He could never fix what he had done, never get away from it. It was his sickness, his plague of the mind, and he couldn’t help but believe he deserved it. With the taste of blood on his lips, he knew he did. When it had first happened, those few months after he had killed Genji, Hanzo was flooded with a flurry of mixed emotions. He had burned, he had  _ hurt. _ He kept denying what he had done, trying to justify in his head that it was all for the good of his family, that it was all necessary. But he could never stop replaying the events in his head, dreaming that he had made a different choice, that he had done anything. Frustration would eat away at him day in and day out, how the Clan kept going about business as normal. Genji was  _ gone _ , a permanent erasure of a constant in his life, another person he had loved that had left him. Yet they never cared, never cared about his family or happiness. It was always about numbers, the cold calculations of making a profit, of making money. Any sense of humanity in them was gone, and Hanzo felt helpless but to fall into the same trap. In a way, Hanzo missed those times. Even though it was painful, it had been something. Now he was cursed with the ever consuming darkness of apathy, that hardly anything brought any sensation of feeling, good or bad. Despite him leaving Hanamura and the Clan behind, they had won. Hanzo had lost himself, lost any sense of the individual he had once been. No longer the proud dragon Prince, but an empty shell, an imposter. He couldn’t help but chuckle at himself, how pathetic the heir to Sojiro Shimada had turned out. He mused that he was perhaps his final revenge, to thoroughly stain their family name with his own downfall. A shiver ran through Hanzo’s body, the itching thoughts in the back of his mind whispering to him once more. He momentarily closed his eyes, accepting what he knew to be true of himself. He was shit. 

Hanzo wiped the blood off his lips, glancing down at his hand. Maybe it was tonight that he should put it to rest, to finish his final chapter. He didn’t have a gun on him, but it wouldn’t be terribly hard to procure. Perhaps he should use the short blade he had with him, in essence recreate what he had done to Genji. There would be a poetic justice in such an end after all, that he should die by the same blade that had killed his brother.

The dragons hissed at him warily, the way they always did when his mind wandered to dark places.  _ Coward. _ They called to him, writhing and nipping through his skin in protest.  _ But he is not dead. _

Hanzo sighed as he wiped the blood onto his pants, proceeding forward towards his hotel room. “I’m not going to kill myself, if that’s what you’re worried about.” He growled quietly to himself. It was odd how often he forgot that detail to the story, that it was far from over. Genji was alive, perhaps not well, but kicking all the same. His body was metal now, and Hanzo could only speculate how much left of him was actual flesh. He frowned, knowing it was all because of him. Because he was weak, because he lacked resolve. “Never again,” he muttered to himself, dragging himself to the shoddy looking door with his key card. 

Hanzo hoped there wouldn’t be more assassins, though he would appreciate a little action to work out his pent up stress. No one night stands in a city where he could only think of a specific man, so finding a warm body to cling tonight was out of the question. Like he deserved even such primal comforts (though he had to admit it had been years since he was last touched). Hanzo hissed to himself, hating that he craved human contact, though he knew he would find no one he wanted here in Paris. 

The room was empty and neat, the only sloppy thing was his bag thrown carelessly on the floor. He went over to fix it up a bit before flopping down onto the bed, slowly curling up into a ball. His fingers were cold, although they were the only thing he could feel. Numbness bled throughout his body, and he hardly felt that he existed, that at a blink of a moment he could be gone. 

Like a crack of thunder, he was broken out of his stupor when he heard the gunshot. Hanzo stood up quickly, eyes glancing around the windows before he realized it had not been for him. No, the sound was loud but not deafening. It was close.

Despite better judgement, Hanzo went to investigate, his mind foggy from how intoxicated he was. It didn’t help that it was nearly four in the morning. There was always a part of him that was drawn to the unknown, to danger; and at this point of his life what did he have to lose? All his life he had been attracted to storms, and it had not yet lead to his end. He had no loved ones, no family, no Clan- all that was left was himself. 

Hanzo’s feet tapped quietly as he slipped out of his room, moving towards the commotion where he saw the unfortunate victim twitching on the ground. It was safe for him to blend into a crowd, a type of solidarity being around so many similarly confused people. His eyes widened when he saw it was the bartender from before, wondering what could have caused such an action. He narrowed his gaze as he observed what appeared to be a bullet wound through the neck, meaning that this was done by a sniper. Scanning the skyline, he saw no one- although he couldn’t shake the sensation that he was being watched. Shaking his head, he decided to leave, not wanting to be around when the authorities arrived. He didn’t understand what or why this had happened, but it was definitely too close in connection for him to feel comfortable. 

He headed back to his room quickly, locking the door behind him. In reality he knew such things wouldn’t stop an intruder, but it was a comfort nonetheless. Hanzo fell onto his bed once more with a shudder, unsure of how long he could keep this up. It was becoming harder with each consecutive day (the death, the running, the neverending punishment that came with shitty hotels and usually shittier jobs). Hanzo knew he had done this to himself, and that he deserved it but was it wrong for him to want more? To have hope that perhaps there could be more to his life? He thought back to Genji and his offer, though he knew he was too ashamed to ever try anything. How could he face his brother? To admit his faults and face the ghost of the man he had killed?

Hanzo nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard a knock at his door, heart stopping for a fraction of a second. He froze, unsure if he should open it or not. Ultimately he decided to risk it. Whoever was out there would not wait forever, and he’d rather take the initiative. He grabbed his handgun, and held it behind his back before opening the door as a precaution.

Hanzo’s voice was caught in his throat from surprise, seeing a face he never thought he’d see again. Definitely one he no longer had business with.

“Akande?” He murmured with narrowed eyes. Hanzo didn’t like a lot of things, but on the top of that list was unwanted surprises.

“Hanzo Shimada.” He said clearly, as tall, dark, and handsome as Hanzo had remembered him. Akande eyed the motel room with obvious disgust, adjusting his tie to what had to be an overly expensive suit. “I believe we need to talk. We can continue with pleasantries if you wish, but if I remember correctly you were always one to go straight to the point.”

“Correct.” Hanzo gripped his gun handle tighter, displeasure written all over his face. “I told you I did not want any business with you when I was in power, why would I want any now?”

Akande laughed at that, straightening his back. “I am not here for you specifically. Talon has other business to attend to, but I was informed you were in the neighborhood so I decided to drop by.” He returned Hanzo’s glare though he kept his demeanour pleasant. “Your clan is weak and I would say it would be the time for external help. Talon has always offered amnesty to the Shimadas and I am merely reminding you that we still are.” He reached into his pocket, taking out a card. “No need for you to attempt to use your gun, I am extending Talon’s generosity again. Your talents are…. wasted.” He said plainly handing Hanzo a black card with a T on it along with a number. “Call me when you’re interested in restoring your clan.”

“ _ If _ I am interested.” Hanzo corrected with a slight growl, already prickly at the situation. He had met Akande once when he was younger, denying to work with Talon then as his father had done before him. As far as he knew back then, if the Shimada clan couldn’t stand tall alone, then they didn’t deserve to stand at all. Hanzo wasn’t a fool, he knew what Akande was now. He had heard of Doomfist, how he was now acting as the leader of Talon and what he had done in Numbani. Hanzo glared daggers at him, not wanting to get mixed up with any of this, that he had enough troubles to last him for the rest of his days. The last thing he needed to do was get involved in some sort of fanatic group. 

“ _ If _ you are interested.” He corrected as well before looking away. “Very well then. I will leave you to reflect on it. As I mentioned, I do have other business in Paris.” Akande started to walk away with a disappointed sigh. “It just pains me to see what you have turned into. It really is such a waste.”

Hanzo bit back a sour retort, knowing it was unwise to provoke such a man. He instead just shut his door, glancing at the card before tossing it onto his dresser. Despite all of his self hatred and disgust, he had no desire to associate himself with Talon. Hanzo simply wanted to be left alone, or at least have the dignity of knowing his choices only affected him.

He sighed quietly, moving to sit on the end of his bed. Did he want to be alone? Was this really all there was for him? Hanzo knew he couldn’t change his true nature, that he would always be on the run looking for the next mission, the next kill. He tried to think of a better, brighter future but his outlook was too shadowed. Part of his mind trailed to his brother, wondering if he could help, wondering if he didn’t have to be alone. Perhaps he could be happy. Perhaps they could change.

Hanzo bit his lip in despair, knowing that, like the seasons, there was never any permanent change. As every summer fell towards winter, he was still Hanzo Shimada, son of Sojiro Shimada. Heir and leader of the Shimada Clan, a Yakuza prince, a murderer, a kinslayer. A failure. 

Hanzo curled up on the creaky bed, staring up at the ceiling fan, wondering if there was any hope for himself anymore. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> poor hanzo, but I promise that the boys will meet very soon....  
> that said, I apologize for the GIANT break i took, I actually moved from oklahoma to florida so as you can imagine it was a big transition for me that caused a lot of stress. I'm happy to say that I do think I'll be able to write more here and that the environment is good for me, so I hope to post more chapters! again thank u if ur reading this I promise I will never abandon this fic and I will finish the series albeit sometimes i will take big breaks if i don't have the time or energy
> 
> If you need to hmu for any reason i'm @draconic_fly on twitter and @draconicfly on tumblr


	5. A Peck of Trouble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was beta'd by @faroucheboi on ao3 and twitter! Thank you so much Jules!

This wasn’t McCree’s first trip to Japan, but it was his first time in Hanamura. He had to give it to Genji, his first impressions were good. It was beyond beautiful, a light covering of snow dusted the streets as they hummed with life. He had never been to the country in winter time, but he had to admit that despite the lack of blooming flowers it was still breathtaking in its own right. McCree was thankful they weren’t met with too much attention, easily passing as tourists. Genji had found a local ramen shop for them to rest at and moved to sit at a corner booth. 

“Good lord I need something hot,” McCree grunted as he pulled out a cigarillo. He struggled lighting it, taking a couple of tries as feeling returned to his fingers. “I thought this was an island, what’s with the snow?”

“It’s not that bad, you just like to complain.” Genji jested as he glanced around, finding the few people around to be inconspicuous enough. “Let’s get some food in you so you stop being so hangry.” He teased him and started ordering McCree something to eat. “ _ Ramen for the American.”  _ He said in his native tongue, the staff seemingly fond of Genji. McCree guessed he didn’t burn every bridge like his brother when he left. 

McCree shook his head, taking a long drag as he momentarily closed his eyes. “Let’s just eat and then get a move on. I don’t like havin’ to get ya so damn close to where….y’know.” He gave Genji a sympathetic look before a hot bowl was presented before him, an elderly man giving it to him although scowling at the smoke.

“Oh, there’s no smoking allowed.” Genji said nonchalantly as his gaze drifted nowhere in particular. McCree huffed, pinching the lit part with his metal fingers before mumbling an apology to the man. “But...I’m fine Jesse, really. This isn’t the first time I’ve been back since then, I could only wish Hanzo was visiting my grave again.” he sighed wistfully. 

McCree chest heaved with a sigh, nodding his head as he began to eat hastily. “Well for yer sake I hope we find what ya lookin for,” he slurred as picked the bowl up to drink the remainder of the broth. Genji watched on, in what McCree assumed was wonder and disgust, as the cyborg’s face still covered. He went to wipe his mouth with the cloth provided, feeling a little bashful with the stares he attracted. “Not sure what he could’ve left that will let ya find his trail, but who am I to question the ninja?” He shrugged as he messed with his hair.

Genji shook his head, muttering something in Japanese. “Well I’m glad you at least admit that you shouldn’t question me. If anyone in the world could find my brother, it would be us.” McCree watched the cyborg mess with his visor, noticing how the baggy clothes covered the majority of metal on his body. McCree wondered if he kept the mask on to hide his identity or to simply try to pass as an omnic. He figured he shouldn’t ask now, as it had taken him years to come to terms with his identity, and he didn’t want to say anything that could upset him. 

McCree chuckled lowly at that, taking sip of whatever he was given. “Yeah? Haven’t seen yer brother for a good twenty years Genji, not so sure I know him anymore.” He grew quiet as he cleared his throat, finding the alcohol to lightly burn. He scrunched his nose, taking a moment to realize it was just sake. “Not sure if I ever really did.” He added in a more somber tone, finishing off the drink with a slight shake of his head. 

“Don’t be so pessimistic.” Genji sighed, putting his elbows on the table as he started texting on his phone. “You knew him, we both knew him. But it’s not so simple as you age- people change. Their values change.” He paused for a moment, mumbling something under his breath before speaking up. “But he is still Hanzo, still my brother. I know him, and believe it or not- you do too. He is… just lost.”

McCree huffed loudly, knowing it was pointless to argue with Genji on the subject. For whatever reason, he was hell bent on ‘rescuing’ Hanzo, even if the elder Shimada obviously didn’t want it. 

“Alright, alright. I ain’t wanting to hear yer whole redemption speech so let’s just get a move on. It’s about sundown anyways.” He muttered, putting down what money he had on the table before getting up. “The faster we take care of this, the better.”

“Oh? Because you had so much going on.” Genji teased as he followed him out, putting his phone away. The sun was nearly gone, painting the sky a beautiful mix of oranges and pinks. McCree had always swore that sunsets were the most beautiful in the American southwest, but he had to admit Hanamura was giving that a run for its money. 

McCree pulled another cigarillo out, clearing his throat as he lit it. He flashed Genji a somewhat friendly glare. “Hey, I’ll have ya know I abandoned a good bounty for this. Lost out on a couple thousand.” He murmured as he took a long drag. 

“I think finding Hanzo is worth more than a couple thousand,” Genji retorted as he gestured for him to follow, going past the neon lights that fizzled to life as the sky grew darker. “And if not, you can take that price to him. I’m sure he took some of the family fortune, perhaps he’s even still using the account.”

“I figure abandoning everything for ten years would lead to him being cut off.” McCree scoffed, glancing about. As they proceeded closer to the old estate, the buildings became less modern in style. There was something elegant with the traditional architecture, McCree thought, admiring it openly. The view was as picturesque as he could imagine, a mountain humbly sitting in the background only adding on to the beauty. 

“Who would do it? Our account was only accessible to the closest relatives. Once father died, it became Hanzo’s responsibility.” The cyborg grew quiet for a moment, obviously in thought. “...We need to get into the main office where our father worked.” He stated as they finally got to the castle, looking up at the gate. The walls were tall and sturdy, that despite their age McCree was sure they wouldn’t break anytime soon. “That’s unusual. They normally don’t have it closed.” Genji said in a bemused tone.

“Hate to break it to ya, but I ain’t much for climbing much these days.” McCree joked as he looked up with a low whistle. “And it’s a looong way up.” He turned to Genji, wondering what plan he had cooked up. Surely he didn’t rule out the idea that they might shut the gate, especially from the sound of how much Hanzo and Genji harassed their old home.

“Nonsense. We will climb.” He said after a moment, flipping the hood up of his jacket. “Or at least I will. It would be amusing to watch you try to cowboy your way up, but falling would go less well. I will open it from the other side.” He stated simply, not waiting for a reply before starting to scale the wall. 

“How many guys we lookin’ at?” McCree tried to ask in a hush voice, not liking how rushed it all seemed. “And will they just shoot at me? Genji!” He said his name in a louder tone, obviously frustrated. 

It was to no avail as Genji was quickly out of sight, giving McCree no heads up of what to expect. He pouted by the door, adjusting his hat before taking another long drag. A few minutes of silence passed with McCree tapping his foot with increasing impatience.

“What on God’s green earth is taking so long, don’t he know it’s cold…” he grumbled to himself before seeing movement at the gate. “Thank the lord, ya know how long--,” McCree was cut off with the sound of a sudden gunshot, the bullet nearly clipping his shoulder. He had hardly any time to react, crouching down to roll to the side, quickly unholstering Peacekeeper. “Fuck,” he growled, as he returned a few shots trying to get whoever it was to back away from the opening at the gate.

Like cracks of thunder, gunshots rang through the air with a couple of shouts in Japanese almost getting lost in the chaos. McCree bit into his cigarillo as he once again rolled closer, remaining on his knee as he lined up a bullet. The man at the gate went down, his chest blooming with a wet red as the light left his eyes. For a brief moment he worried for Genji, wondering what had went wrong, but the present demanded to be dealt with. ‘ _ Gun! Man down!’ _ were the only parts McCree could make out from the frantic shouts he heard, too focused on trying to figure out their positions to translate more. He didn’t care what they were saying anyways as he stepped his way past the gate into the estate. It didn’t matter, not as much as him counting how many shots he had left and how many he would need.

With each breath, he felt the cold and smoke fill his lungs, the only sensation that kept him grounded.  _ Three shots left, three bullets.  _ His eyes darted around the courtyard seeing five armed men. McCree was quick on the draw shooting a man square in the chest, plaguing the white snow with a dark murky red. They returned fire, McCree’s chest plate taking a few hits before he could pop off another shot, hitting a man’s arm. He figured they were fools, running around only in suits and sunglasses, as if that would protect them from anything. So much for the feared Shimada Clan. 

_ One bullet. _ He glared at the remaining three, time seeming to slow around him. McCree growled to himself, a sudden anger flaring inside his gut. It roiled and turned his insides, his metal hand in a tightening into a fist as he got up. A quick flick of the wrist and it was down to one on two, although the odds would be better for him if he had any more bullets. They advanced quickly, not taking any chances, nor giving him time to reload. McCree boldly went on to meet them, rushing as he raised his arm up under his red serape attracting most of the fire. Smoke and snow illuminated with sparks as the bullets bounced off, his poor serape becoming shredded in the process. He growled again as ducked his head, barreling into the nearest man into the ground. There was a struggle, the man moving like water as he tried to wrap his arms around McCree’s neck, a few elbows landing blows on his joints. He was too old to be fighting like this, but the cowboy refused to go out here, like this, for  _ him. _ The taste of salt and iron invaded his lips as he bit down on the man’s arm, the cigarillo spat from his mouth. Sure, McCree had never learned to fight in an elegant or traditional sense, but that’s not how he won. He played dirty, he had been a scrapper his entire life and making it to 37 with his track record was proof enough it worked. The man yowled in pain but refused to let go, making McCree yank down on his arm with his metal appendage. 

He knew it wasn’t fair, but again that wasn’t the Deadlock, Blackwatch, or frankly the McCree way. Bones crunched when he squeezed down with his hand, his mind flicking into an instinctual state with his air being cut off. It was all in a haze when he escaped the man’s grip, he punched with impact, with purpose towards his throat and chest. There was more blood as he felt solid muscle give way, that which wouldn’t give broke under his touch. McCree wheezed trying to catch his breath, turning back, hunkered down with his fists up eyeing down the last man. He had his gun up, fear hidden from his posture though his voice was unsteady.

“Stop! Right now, I’ll shoot you, you son of a bi--” The man was cut off with a sudden gasp, cursing to himself as he dropped his gun. He held onto his hand, a shuriken pierced through his flesh, soon welling up and dripping of his blood. He didn’t get another word before another one was lodged into his throat, his body slowly falling first to his knees before limply into the snow.

McCree scoffed as he went to sit on his ass, taking a moment to breath. “Nice aim.” He commented as Genji appeared, hardly making a sound as he surveyed the courtyard. “But still, fuck you.” He panted, looking up at the sky as he fished for a cigarillo. McCree desperately wanted a smoke, anything to dull the edge he was on. 

“You wouldn’t be out of breath if you didn’t smoke so much,” Genji teased as he reached down to touch the blood stained frost. “Do you ever check your phone? I warned you people were heading to the gate.”

“Believe it or not, when I go on a  _ stealth _ mission, that shit is on silent.” McCree shot him a glare before groaning, finding his pockets empty. “Shit must’ve fell out..” he murmured mostly to himself, as he went to slowly reload Peacekeeper before hostering her. 

Genji paced, leaving red footprints behind him. “Here,” he flashed his pack of cigarillos after a minute of searching. McCree reached for them before the cyborg pulled it away from his grip, waving his finger. “I’ll give it you inside. Perhaps the cold air will be good for you.” He mused, gesturing for him to follow. “Once we get to the office, you can do whatever.We are  _ so close _ , I know we’ll be able to find him.” 

McCree shook his head as he slowly got up, following what he considered to be a too chipper cyborg. He still didn’t understand how he expected to trace Hanzo here of all places, but was too tired to complain. Sure, he wasn’t hurt and merely winded, but the whole scenario screamed ‘too old for this shit’. His back and neck hurt, and to add insult to injury his favorite serape was ruined. He grumbled to himself, wanting a smoke though he knew it was probably a bad idea. It wasn’t like Angela was around; he could only imagine her horror to see what health McCree had left himself in. 

 

The main office wasn’t as extravagant as he would’ve thought. From what he had heard about Sojiro, he was a man of considerable wealth and figured the place would be gilded in gold. Instead, all he found were bookshelves- lined with years of history, literature, and poetry. Not exactly the type of reading he imagined a Yakuza lord did, but he mused that at the end of the day, Sojiro was just a man like the rest of them. The decorations were all a muted blue, a few things outlined in gold. It made him think of his dream with Hanzo, and he grew quiet as he brushed his fingers over the drapes that hid the scenic view. McCree snatched his cigarillos from Genji without a word, moving to light one as Genji shook his head. He went over to the desk, trying to access the main computer and leaving McCree to himself.

Taking a drag, he wandered towards a shelf to pick up what appeared to be a family photo. Sojiro had greying hairs, standing tall and proud in his custom tailored suit. He had the presence of a true Yakuza, something that demanded fear and respect. His wife was pretty, dressed formally and conservative. Yet something about her face made McCree uncomfortably upset, finding the resemblance to Hanzo to be a little too much for him. Maybe it was the sharpness of her cheekbones or the deepness of her eyes, but McCree couldn’t stand to stare at her for much longer. His gaze drifted to Genji and Hanzo, much younger than they were now- but older than when they had left him. Only Genji smiled, bright eyes and a wide grin beaming through the old photo. It was odd to think that the cyborg he knew during Blackwatch had ever been like this, possessing that youthful innocence despite what his family did. He grunted with a slight cough, narrowing his eyes in disdain. His thumb brushed over the image of Hanzo, his heart fixated on his dark eyes. McCree frowned trying to distract himself, focusing on the bitter taste of smoke in his palette.

Hanzo, his first love, the man he blamed for the majority of his commitment issues- even if that wasn’t fair. The man who set his soul on fire, and burned him down to his core. Hanzo had left him in a pile of cinders at the end, but in an odd way he couldn’t bring himself to entirely hate. It was too easy, to think back when they were young and in love. How Hanzo had held onto him, had looked up at him with what he had to assume was the purest, rawest form of affection he had ever experienced. McCree shook his head, putting the picture down before heading to the desk, not wanting to review the various books Sojiro had on his shelves. 

“What’s up?” He asked, chewing on the end of his cigarillo as he leaned over Genji’s shoulder, trying to make out what was on the screen. By this time in his life, McCree understood spoken Japanese well enough but reading and understanding all of the symbols was another story. 

“Looking into his spendings. As expected, Hanzo has been using the family’s money still.” Genji laughed poking the screen. “Look at what he buys! You see how many sweets, I’m amazed I found my brother in such good shape…” he teased, though he found McCree was less amused. “And, uh, his last major purchase was a plane ticket to Paris. So we should head there as quick as possible, before he may leave.”

“Paris? Fuck.” McCree side eyed the screen, moving to sit on the end of the desk. “So you’re telling me we just flew out here to just hop on another plane to Europe?” He gave an aggravated sigh, though jet lag was something that didn’t bother him much anymore. He mused that he gained an immunity through his service with Blackwatch.

“Yup,” Genji chirped in response, turning off the computer. “Don’t act like it’s insufferable, when we worked with Reyes we would go to Italy one day and then to China to end back up in America.” He shrugged, though McCree frowned only more. “..And if you were wondering how I could access the account, it was because only Shimadas of the primary family know the password.” He added, as if to change the direction of the conversation. 

McCree turned his glare towards Genji, tapping his cigarillo over the desk. “What? You mean to tell me you’re loaded? I’ve been paying this whole time and yer a goddamn millionaire?” He huffed as Genji failed to hold back a laugh. “Well, laugh it up, cause I’m expecting ya to pay for the plane tickets. First class this time, I want leg space  _ and _ a hot meal.” 

Genji nodded, getting up before patting McCree’s shoulder, in an obvious good mood. “So be it.”

  
  


The flight was mostly a blur, Genji ponying up the cash to let McCree have a private cabin for the duration. If it was on Sojiro’s bill, he didn’t feel bad for the multiple drinks he ordered to help him sleep, wanting to black out. No dreams, no unfilled desires of a family, and no dark eyes that made him feel things he tried to cut out. When they finally arrived in Paris, McCree stumbled about, his legs feeling like jelly and his head aching from his hangover. It had been a rough twelve hours.

“Serves you right.” Genji teased as he patted McCree’s back as he crouched over to dry heave over a garbage can. “I saw the bill, I know it’s a long flight but you did  _ not _ have to spend that much on alcohol...”

“Fuck off,” McCree grunted his reply, taking the water bottle Genji offered. “...and thanks. Just haven’t been able to hit any bars since this whole thing came up, and if we’re close then maybe I was just getting a head start on celebrating.” He mused, though they both knew that was a lie. 

“Well, moving past your drunkenness, I have actually been productive. I’ve booked us a hotel, so we’ll go there first. Then I’ll go investigate for Hanzo,” Genji explained while giving him a look up and down with mild disgust, the face of his visor off. “I think you need to rest, or at least... a shower.” 

“Haha, calling the cowboy dirty.” McCree said dryly but in a good humor, taking another swig of water. “Why can’t ya just track him down with the purchases? That seems to be yer go to on finding him.” He asked.

“I checked, but apparently he’s paying cash wherever he is.” Genji raised his arms up as he talked, being over dramatic as usual. “But he’s  _ here _ Jesse. Somewhere in this city, Hanzo walks with us. I know it, I can feel it.” He gushed on with a wide smile, his gaze turning to the skyline. “He’s seeing these same lights, sleeping under the same stars. Who knows, maybe we’ll even be retracing his steps right now.” Genji carried on as he gestured towards the airport. They had landed at some ungodly hour, only further contributing to the exhaustion McCree felt. Still, he had to admit it was a beautiful sight. If nothing else from this trip, he was glad to finally see the world in a more benevolent scene. Not just the darkness of underbelly crime and gangs, but to simply bask in the night lights of a city, to admire a sunset. He felt a small smile grow on his face, though not for the reasons Genji was probably hoping for.

“Alright, just gimme yer bag. I’ll go check in and let ya get right to it.” He tipped his hat as Genji grinned, nodding his head. 

“You won’t regret this, I know Hanzo still has some good in him.” Genji promised in an optimistic voice. He could swear that the cyborg was almost bouncing, leaving McCree to wonder how he managed to still have so much energy.

McCree waved him away, taking his bag. “Alright, alright. I ain’t the one ya gotta convince of that. Now get.” He said playfully before heading off towards their hotel, finding that the directions were taking him to a more dingy part of the city. 

He gave an annoyed sigh, knowing Genji definitely could’ve afforded something nicer. He figured it was to keep their presence more of a secret, knowing that at least McCree had a bounty on his head. No questions were asked after he paid, McCree speaking French the best he could with his thick Southwestern American accent. Nothing felt closer to heaven when he finally got to the room, choosing the bed closer to the door just so he could flop onto it sooner.

McCree was on the verge of passing out there, though the smell of sweat and smoke made his nauseated state only worse. With a cough, McCree managed to drag himself up knowing where there was a cheap laundry mat next door. He made a mental note to wash his clothes then to dart back to take a shower, knowing that he would feel at least a little better if he did so. Grumbling, he went to go pay it a visit, not wanting to soil the fresh sheets anymore with his current filth than he had already done.

Pulling his shirt off, he instantly shivered at how the cold Parisian wind caressed his chest. McCree closed his eyes, taking a deep breath as he let it consume him for a moment. It was almost like he could just let go, of his worries, his pains. That at the doorway of this sketchy French laundry facility, McCree was just a man, no more no less, no strings attached. He smiled at that notion, fully aware normalcy was something he would never truly experience. McCree eventually opened his eyes as if he was in a haze, blinking slowly as he enjoyed the simplicity of a chilly night.

He didn’t turn around until he heard a nearby thud, glancing at the fallen paper bag with a few groceries rolling out. He knelt down instinctively to help, grabbing what looked like to be a package of pastries. “Woah there, ya alright --” 

McCree slowly stood up, taking a step back as he mouth was left agape. The air had been knocked out of his lungs as he struggled to breathe, blinking rapidly as if to wake himself up from a dream. His eyes widened as he was paralyzed, unable to tear his gaze away from the dark eyes he dreamt too much of.

_ Hanzo. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SOOooooo it begins! Thank you for your patience and sorry if it seemed rushed! I just really wanted the boys to finally see each other again haha. Thanks again for the amount of support you guys give the series, it's honestly why i keep writing!
> 
> If you need to contact me for this, or for any reason I'm on twitter @ draconic_fly ad on tumblr @ draconicfly


	6. Let Dreams be Dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy! I know it's been a hot minute since I've updated, but moving and starting grad school turns out to be a lot harder than expected! Nevertheless, I will not ever abandon this fic and even if it takes a long time I will finish it.... I promise! I edited this chapter myself and thus all mistakes are my own. I hope you enjoy it!

It was one thirty in the morning, he was partially hungover, and Hanzo had just spent way too much money on danishes and macarons. Seeing the gunslinger from his past shirtless and dirty in front of him was the last thing he had expected; Hanzo had to take several seconds to even accept this was happening.

“I...uh..,” Hanzo wasn’t sure he even recognized him at first, the man slowly handing him back his bag of sweets he had dropped.  _ Run. _ His mind screamed at him that this couldn’t be real, couldn’t be true. That it had to be a trick and that he should flee, that perhaps Talon or his own mind was toying with him. Yet despite the obvious effects of age and facial hair, he knew that face, those golden brown eyes. He knew this was no one else other than Jesse McCree.

He took a step back when McCree started forward, knowing the way he was staring that he knew. Even the changes from time, the recognition was instant. “I...you..,” McCree looked down for a moment, his cheeks flaring a light red as he narrowed his eyes as if was just as shocked. 

Hanzo was trained when it came to reading people, something that had been honed into his skill set from a young age. It was vital to working with the Yakuza, even more so to lead them yet when he looked into McCree’s eyes he couldn’t tell what he was going to do. Anger. Confusion. Regret. He saw a swirl of emotions going through his mind, though Hanzo didn’t know if he was just projecting at this point. 

“I…” Hanzo was unable to find what words to say, as if there were any. Nothing about his life had been easy, nor simple. How was he expected to explain the last twenty years, of why he never went looking for McCree, how he had tried so hard to erase him from his mind? “Why are you here?” The question left his lips in a cold tone, Hanzo took another step back as he shifted into a more defensive stance. 

“Well, I was gonna wash my clothes.” McCree murmured, his gaze moving down at his shirt. “But seems I stumbled along something more. I’ve been… looking for you.” He admitted, his body and stance both tense. After a moment of silence he looked at Hanzo again, his intentions still unreadable. “I’m here on a favor for a friend. Turns out for whatever reason, your brother wants to talk to ya.” His voice was low and tired, but the hostility was unmistakable. “Not sure why, especially after what you’ve done. Almost killed him, definitely... _ changed _ him. I can’t rightly understand why he’d wanna talk to a bastard like you.”

It felt like a sharp jab in his ribs, though the gunslinger kept his distance, his words hit Hanzo hard. It was Genji, of course it was Genji, the one person in his life who wouldn’t give up on him though he had the most reason to. He continued walking back, his jaw clenched. “Genji?” he hissed, glancing down at his grocery bag. “..he came for me? So you must know..”

“Yeah I fucking know. Where ya think Genji went?” McCree growled, his grip on his shirt tightening into a fist. “I...you’re coming with me. Ya can make it go easy, or hard. Choice is yours.”

Hanzo quirked an eyebrow at him, not expecting the request. “Oh? A threat is an odd way to try and entice me.” He said in a sharp tone, narrowing his eyes. For now the archer tried to keep himself together, not too keen on seeing his brother. He wanted to break, to run, to hide away from the world but now he knew he needed to save face. 

“I ain’t trying to entice you, I’m…” McCree shook his head, heavy bags under his eyes. Hanzo had remembered how spry and youthful he had been, filled with determination and energy. Now all he saw before him was a tired and grizzled man, most likely just as jaded as he was. The cowboy sighed as his grip on his shirt loosened. “Look, Genji went and found me and dragged me across the world to find ya. If ya run now, ya think he won’t find you again? He’s… worried. And for whatever reason he still gives a damn about ya and honestly he’s the last bit of family you have.” He took a deep breath, his gaze meeting Hanzo’s for a moment. “I ain’t asking for myself, but he cares about you. That’s more than ya deserve so my advice would be to hear him out.”

Hanzo frowned at that, not sure if his eyes were filled with resentment or pity. Either way he didn’t like how McCree’s gaze followed him, his hold on his groceries tensing. Fight or flight, to face his fears or run away, Hanzo knew this was the last place he wanted to be at the moment. Yet Hanzo had found himself stuck in the middle, in a battle of control with his legs as he stood perfectly still. “I expect if I tried to flee you would chase me, and it is far too late for such antics.” Hanzo managed to say in a cool and collected voice. He gestured to his hotel, keeping himself seemingly together. “I am staying there, and will return to my room. I won’t be leaving for a few days so take that as you will.” He looked down, refusing to let the cowboy see any sign of weakness. “If Genji wishes to speak to me then tell him this. I will leave you to clean yourself.” Hanzo cleared his throat with finality before starting walking towards that, nearly jumping out of his skin when he felt a calloused hand grab his arm. 

“Now wait for just one second,” McCree tugged him roughly to get him to turn around before letting go. Hanzo’s eyes widened as he looked him up and down quickly, chastising himself for feeling a burn on his cheeks. The cowboy had a broad chest with dark hair that covered it, going down his stomach to his slimmer waist. He quickly stopped that track of thought, pulling away with a glare. He thought he saw a flash of hurt in the cowboy’s eyes before he continued. “Look...I’ll need a room number is all. For Genji.” He clarified, his metal arm twitching a bit.

Hanzo stared at the new appendage, his chest twisting at the thought of what had happened to him. He quickly shoved whatever feeling that was developing away, nodding his head at McCree’s request. “Room 21.” He answered briskly before turning away again, holding the bag to his chest as he refused to turn back. His legs ached to run but he knew the cowboy was watching so he willed himself to be calm, to perform the way the ex-Yakuza mercenary should be. 

Yet McCree seemed to have other plans, moving to pull on his arm yet again. “Woah there, I said  _ wait. _ ” He said again this time with some irritation. Hanzo turned to face him on his own, narrowing his eyes as he met his gaze unsure of what to say. The cowboy seemed to be having similar struggles merely staring at him for what felt like too long. “Don’t.. Don’t ya got anything to say..?” He asked after a few minutes, something pleading about his posture. “Anything? An explanation, fuck even an excuse?” Hanzo tilted his head, unable to tell if he was upset or angry, though by the way his jaw clenched it had to be a mixture of both. “It’s…. Been an awfully long time.”

Hanzo cleared his throat once more, his eyes drooping a bit. He was tired, tired of running, tired of the burden he felt sitting on his chest. What did McCree want from him? An apology for what he had done to his brother, what he had done to him? He shrugged his shoulders, refusing to look at him knowing he wouldn’t be able to bear it. “I have nothing to say. It has been a lifetime for both of us.” He said quietly yet firmly. “No matter what I say, my actions cannot be taken back, cannot be erased.”  _ Cannot be forgiven.  _ He started, managing to keep his voice level. “Whatever punishments I will meet for them I will deal with. There is nothing more to this topic.”

Again, they stood in silence. Hanzo felt like their bodies were too close, the warmth mocking him as he withdrew more into himself. 

Finally the cowboy spoke, his eyes dark and ablazed. “Nothing huh?” He reached into his pocket, pulling out a cigarillo to chew on the end of. “After all this time, nothing…” Hanzo didn’t know why his voice got caught in his throat, that he was helpless to respond as he watched him light the cigarillo. The small glint of fire highlighted his face, more worn and rugged than he remembered but still handsome. Still Jesse. Hanzo hadn’t realized he was staring until McCree turned away from him, pale scars decorating his back along with freckles. “Fine.” He said almost too quietly to hear. “Go on then, if you got nothing to say then I sure as hell don’t.”

Hanzo wanted to reach out to him, to comfort the boy he remembered. But his feet didn’t move as he watched the cowboy knowing that he wasn’t the same. He was bigger, more dangerous, and similarly to Hanzo more tired. The way he walked was sluggish, his shoulders relaxed as if he had accepted some defeat. The archer pressed his lips into a line, a surge of odd and overwhelming feelings swirled in his stomach. Nostalgia, regret, hope and disappointment all bubbling under his skin. He knew he couldn’t face him, couldn’t relieve what anxieties he must have. The simple truth was that Hanzo had wronged him, and nothing he could do would ever change that. He looked down at his feet, managing to feel more worthless. 

“Go fuck yourself.” McCree grumbled as he went to walk into the laundry mat, slamming the door behind him. Hanzo winced at his tone, part of him telling to go follow him, to explain. That everything Hanzo had done in his life was to please and obey those he thought he was supposed to. That he had been too weak of a man, and merely imitated what he thought was a strong leader, a good one that could continue his family legacy. He was supposed to be the one to keep his family and clan together, but he had been the very thing to destroy it. Hanzo was despicable, vile, and utterly undeserving of sympathy yet the cowboy’s words stung. It hurt him more than he’d like to admit to watch him leave in anger and frustration all while knowing it was all because of him. 

Hanzo turned to head to his hotel room, a part of him worrying now of his inevitable meeting with his brother. He had grown close to McCree, that while he had put himself in a wandering exile those two had met up, that Blackwatch had taken care of the brother that he was supposed to protect. He slammed his own door behind him, throwing his bag of groceries to the wall before his hands tangled in his own hair.

He was so  _ stupid _ , so easily malleable that he had even let his life get to this point. What type of man who was sworn to be his family’s leader and protector ended up like this? His soul was withering up, that he felt like nothing most days, but McCree, the boy with the crooked smile and wild hair and had eyes like the sun, had ruined all that. Hanzo didn’t know what to do when all he could do is  _ feel.  _ Jealousy mixed with remorse, he wanted to go back out there, wanted to go proclaim and apologize and explain everything to a man he hadn’t seen in good twenty years, but he knew he couldn’t. He had no right to, and McCree undoubtedly wouldn't accept it. He saw Hanzo for what he was, what he had let himself become. Genji still held hope for him, but that was because he had never failed to be the faithful younger brother despite the pain and suffering Hanzo had put him through. 

Hanzo looked at his hands, watching them shake faintly. He didn’t deserve him, either of them. All he did was bring misery to them, and he was not in a position to give them what they needed. He could not provide answers or closure, both things he was still searching for himself. 

The archer glanced to his bag, thinking he could run again. He wasn’t sure how they had found him, but he could be more careful this time, go places they couldn’t follow. His train of thought was ended with another pang of guilt, wondering how hopeful Genji would be. He moved to hold his own hand for some stability, to trick himself that the reassuring pressure was from another person. He could do this, he could meet with him at least once. He owed Genji that much.

Hanzo bit his bottom lip as he bottled up the emotions that threatened to bubble through the surface. He wanted to scream, cry, release his rage in more concrete way than sitting alone in a dirty hotel. His gaze drifted around the room, wondering if this was all that was left in his life. Unknown city to city, killing strangers for money and hardly taking care of himself. How long could he keep this up? Hanzo was no fool, he knew his lifestyle was unsustainable, that it was already beginning to wear and tear at him. He could hardly sleep at night, could hardly stand to be alone with his thoughts for more than an hour. He kept moving because he was compelled to, compelled to keep running until he found what he needed. Hanzo sighed, wondering what that was exactly. Family or friends or just love? Was it anymore than his own delusions of redemption?  His cheeks burned as he squeezed his own hand, thinking of what he once had, what he had been so close to securing. What he had failed to keep. 

Hanzo spent the rest of the night staring up into the darkness of his room, trying to numb himself. He knew he needed to be rational and in control when he met with his brother, that he couldn’t afford to succumb to weakness. It seemed like hours passed before he heard a knock on the door, his heart skipping a beat out of anxiousness.

“The door is open.” He called out. “Come in.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO IT BEGINS. the boys have met and the drama is gonna get juicy. sorry this chapter was so short, again writing has been very hard for me to do with working long hours at the lab and in the class. but I will try to get them closer to 3k words!! also, I may need some help editing so if anyone is interested in beta reading id be very grateful! AH I really need to reread my own fics but I hope you're all managing to enjoy this!
> 
> If you need to hmu for any reason i'm @draconic_fly on twitter and @draconicfly on tumblr

**Author's Note:**

> And so it begins! Like the other series, it'll be alternating pov between hanzo and mccree and i dont know how many chapters this one will be but anywhere from 15-25 is a good bet.  
> Also! I am looking for a beta reader so if you're interested please let me know! School and work, and now grad school interviews make this hard to do consistently, so a little help would be appreciated!  
> EDIT: Thanks if you contacted me! I got a beta reader so woohoo 
> 
> If you need to contact me for this, or for any reason I'm on twitter @ draconic_fly ad on tumblr @ draconicfly


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